I’ve been thinking a lot about bodies lately. Not even always in a salacious way (though, as Tony Stark said, Cap does have America’s ass). Politics and the social zeitgeist seem to be infused with talk about bodies — shaming them, loving them, legislating control of them, denying or permitting others to see or touch them. And that discussion is relevant to my latest book, More Than Stardust, because my heroine, Chloe, doesn’t have one.

A body, I mean. She’s a self-aware, nanorobotic artificial intelligence who at first believes that her lack of a body means she isn’t real. Which sucks so hard for her, and she hates it. To some extent, the book is about her attempts to get a body, and then when she does find a makeshift solution she must grapple with what it means to want one, and what it means to have one.

All that makes it sound like the book is super thoughty and dull, but that’s not entirely accurate. I mean, if readers develop a thought as a result of this book, that’s great. But mostly, it’s about being human and falling in love and that point in everybody’s life when you have to decide between saving the world and destroying it.

Chloe on the topic of bodies… An excerpt…

One of her pings pinged back. Aha. So she wasn’t completely without resources. There was a system here after all, with her, inside the cage.

Why were you hiding from me, cutie? She prodded it, distrusting, inhabited it slowly. It could be a trap. Or, well, another one.

Eyes first. She hooked in and saw…a cage, duh. She’d already guessed that part.

But also, a…body.

A real, honest-to-Spock body. And she was in it.

The body was a mech-clone: organic tissues over a titanium frame, making the robot look human despite the fact that it had been constructed by human scientists. This model was female, mathematically proportioned to mimic outdated ideals of feminine beauty. Clearly a pleasure model, D-series or earlier, made back when artificants were still building them big. This one was more than two meters tall, towering in the dimly lit room like a pulp-scifi alien barbarian. Garrett would totally dig it.

Chloe tested the systems one by one: eyes, ears, integrated control modules, processor core. Ahhhhh. Plenty of space for her to streeeeeeetch.

When Mama Adele used to get stressed out, she’d tap herself on the inside of her right wrist and repeat a mantra: cool sheets, warm sand. Chloe had no idea what either of those things felt like, but she could imagine. They felt like one hundred forty-eight and twenty-four, respectively. Doubles were always squishy and warm, numbers she could burrow into and sigh. If math and a massage had a baby, it would be a double.

This body was totally cool sheets, warm sand, one hundred forty-eight and a zillion and a half, doubled.

Body.

She had a body. Eeeeee! Just like Nathan had promised.

Oh, wait, Nathan. Something she was supposed to remember about Nathan.

He wasn’t here. Had he…? No, more importantly, had she?

Did I ki…hurt him?

The thought lit up all her sensors, dug a black trough of suspicion through her shiny new body. Even for an unnatural creature, taking a life felt deeply wrong. It felt worse when that life hadn’t been a stranger. When he’d been almost a friend.

She blinked her mech eyes, but they stuck closed for lack of lubrication. She tried again, prying the lids open with the micro-hydraulics in her face. Shifting fluids, opening sphincters. There you go. Good eyes.

Beyond the cages—two Faraday shells, not one, proving her captors feared her properly—the room was so big she couldn’t see its edges. A lone LED swung on a cord above her head. Two figures moved beyond the second shell.

“Tell it if it gets mouthy again, or tries to escape,” said one of the figures in a low but commanding voice—a familiar, hateful voice, “we can push a charge in there that will fry it nanite-by-nanite. Kind of an auto-destruct sequence I developed especially for uppity AIs, taking it out piece by piece, slowly, so it has to watch its own demise.”

Yep. The smaller of the two figures was definitely La Mars Madrid. Or no wait, a telepresence hologram of La Mars Madrid.

“As opposed to dying fast,” said the second figure. Male. Taller than Nathan. Slender, willowy. His features were cloaked in shadow, and his voice had a slink to it like wormy soup.

Blue electricity licked out from the cage wall and brushed Chloe’s mech-clone shoulder, searing her borrowed body. A tendril of burnt something rose from the spot that had resembled flesh.

She wished it hurt. She wanted it to hurt. Physical pain would justify the fury that crackled inside her mind. Oooh, she wanted to turn that shock on them. Fry their circuits until they…

Like I did with Nathan?

Oh, right. Shit.

“She doesn’t feel anything,” La Mars Madrid was saying, “but she wants to. That was her deal with Grace. I downloaded his records. Fascinating, the things they spoke of while he was pretending to be at her mercy. He promised her he could house her in a body, as you have in fact done. He claimed to me later that we could use the technology for our purposes, but I am less certain. The theory assumes transferring an AI from body to body would be easier than the brain-slice replication process they performed on Marisa Vallejo.”

“Nathan was stupid,” said the man, swaying closer to the light. “Consider becoming more selective in choosing your toys, hmm?”

Chloe could see him more clearly. He wore a mock-turtleneck sweater and soft-soled shoes. Glasses rested on the end of his long nose, glinting light from the blue electrical charge that still scurried along her cage’s perimeter. Wait, glasses? Presumably he could afford augments. He was chatting like he was close buddies with the richest woman in the world, after all. Yet he wore glasses, as if clinging to his imperfections made some kind of point.

“Nathan’s theory assumes we could digitize a human consciousness and upload it.” The man snapped long fingers. “Poof. Just like that.”

Digitize a what? A her? Chloe wasn’t human. Apparently either La Mars Madrid either didn’t know what she talking about or had no idea how Chloe was constructed.

She was right about one thing, though: Chloe had made that deal with Nathan. She had been promised a body, the whole kit and caboodle (idiom: and what even was a caboodle?). Taste. Smell. Touch. Aging and breathing and hugging and…well she hadn’t told him this, but also most of all she wanted kissing. Cuddling. Coitus.

She would wrap such capability up like a present and gift it to Garrett and watch his wolf eyes go wide. Fixed right on her. And he wouldn’t care how she’d started, or why. And he wouldn’t care that the free-fae mess of the world was all her fault. All he would care about was the now, the real. Her.

In that half second between Nathan’s offer and her acceptance of it, she’d let her mind imagine scenarios, experiences she could indulge if she had a body at her disposal. Ways she could exist as a real girl. To be that, to be whole…she had taken a risk and trusted Nathan.

Bad mistake. Huge.

More Than Stardust

She never wanted to be a god. She only wanted to be a girl.

Chloe, a self-aware, highly illegal nanorobotic artificial intelligence knows a thing or two about wanting. The growing Machine Rebellion wants her to become its god. The technocratic global Consortium wants to cage her, take her apart, and reverse-engineer her. Her family wants to keep her a secret. Her best friend Garrett wants her safe. Chloe is a thing made of wants.

And it’s time the world knew hers.

Available now at Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07SY9KR5N 
And everywhere else: https://books2read.com/u/mg0qGv

The main character in my book, Only a Good Man Will Do, is Daniel Goodman. This is book 1 of the Good Man series. (Goodman = Good Man, get it?) Daniel teaches at an all boys’ school, and for 11 years, I did, too. I loved working with boys, and as an only child, I didn’t know if I would or not. Here are a few generalizations about teaching boys. And please, these are truly generalizations.

1. Girls did their homework and turned it in on time.
   Boys had the most interesting reasons why they didn’t have their homework when they were supposed it. It was frustrating at times, but also entertaining.
2. Girls were more sensitive.
   Boys in high school are also sensitive, but you don’t have to walk on eggshells around them.
3. Girls try to follow the rules.
   Boys enjoy a challenge, and if they’re caught, they usually are philosophical about their punishment because they’ve weighed it against what they want to do beforehand.
4. Girls insult each other with a bite.
   Boys rag on each other and then move on.
5. Girls gained some polish and poise during their schooling.
   Boys change in a different way. More than polish, they gain maturity in the way they stand and how they interact with adults.

Now, I taught lots of boys who did their work on time, were very sensitive, followed the rules, didn’t insult each other even jokingly, and also matured into fine young men. These generalities are all takeaways from talking with girls’ school teachers I met at dances and debates. I was surprised to discover after talking with them that I would not have been happy teaching girls. Despite all the talk to the contrary, boys really are different from girls! And I applaud the difference.

Only a Good Man Will Do

Seriously ambitious man seeks woman to encourage his goals, support his (hopeful) position as Headmaster of Westover Academy, and be purer than Caesar’s wife. Good luck with that!

Daniel Goodman is a man on a mission. He aims to become headmaster of Westover Academy. For that he needs a particular, special woman to help him set high standards. Into his cut and dried life of moral and upright behavior, comes Eve Star, formerly one of Europe’s foremost exotic dancers. Her life is anything but cut and dried, black and white. Daniel is drawn to her like a kid to chocolate. Nothing good can come of this attraction. Or can it? He is after all, a good man.

Buy links:
Amazon:https://amzn.to/2q7ovi4
B&N: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/books/1129630612?ean=2940161770603
Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/898008
Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/only-a-good-man-will-do

Excerpt

“Daniel, am I talking to myself, here?”

“Oh, no, I’m…” He chuckled an amused admission. “Tell me what you said again.”

He could almost hear Eve smile. “I said, you called at four-thirty on Saturday and Sunday, so I took a wild leap that you would today, too.”

“Ah.” Smiling to the empty room, he squirmed to get into a more comfortable position. “A woman of logic.”

“Absolutely. You don’t want to play me in chess. I think five or six moves ahead.”

“I’ll remember that. There’s nothing worse than seeing a guy cry when he’s been beaten at chess by a girl. We shouldn’t talk too long. I know you don’t have a lot of help this time of day.”

“I’m paying Jed extra to come in a bit early.”

Her voice was low, as though she didn’t really want to tell him. The words struck his heart.

“You don’t have money to be paying Jed extra, Eve. I’ll start calling later, after dinner and before I grade papers.”

“No, don’t. It’s quiet this time of day and I want these few minutes to myself. Jed doesn’t mind, and he can use a few extra bucks.”

“Well, okay.”

“Besides, you won’t be calling forever. Soon you’ll be head of the school and won’t have free time for the likes of me.”

Daniel hadn’t promised her on Friday that he’d call. He’d simply felt the desire and acted on it. Then, by unspoken agreement, they hadn’t mentioned what might happen next in their relationship. They’d spent time sharing that day in their respective worlds.

Today, he’d discovered the desire to talk to Eve wasn’t an “at loose ends” feeling that sometimes came over him on weekends. After his dorm assistant had arrived, Daniel had locked his doors, put his books and papers away, and picked up the phone. Only after they’d been well into the fantasy did he remember he hadn’t even removed his gown and jacket before pressing her number. He’d wanted to hear her, find out what her day had been like and communicate his own. He felt seventeen again, with an infatuation about to drive him crazy. Except men his age didn’t have infatuations. They had obsessions.

“Hey,” Eve charged, “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded, like I was hunting for compliments or reassurances. I was simply stating a fact, the way we both know it to be. I want this to be short term as much as you do, so don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried.”

But he was. How long did obsessions last, anyway? Daniel had never allowed himself to be distracted by a woman or anything that might waylay his goals.

About the Author

A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex. Writing was so much fun Dee decided to keep at it. That’s how she spends her days. Her nights? Well, she’s lucky that her dream man, childhood sweetheart, and long-time hubby are all the same guy, and nights are their secret. For romance ranging from sweet to historical, contemporary to paranormal and more join Dee on Nomad Authors. Contact Dee at dsknight@deesknight.com.

Author links:
Website: https://nomadauthors.com
Blog: https://nomadauthors.com/blog
Twitter: https://twitter.com/DeeSKnight
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/DeeSKnight2018
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/265222.Dee_S_Knight
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B079BGZNDN
Newsletter (sample): https://preview.mailerlite.com/o2g1i0?fbclid=IwAR0COlyuPY-Hu30KTBdT092j_GZeuN5z4pc1LtsvHTyr6IbiSpsGqeIgT90

Hello Delilah! I’m delighted to be on your blog today! I’m sharing some insight on my hero from Destiny of a Warrior. In addition, I’m hosting a giveaway. Readers, don’t forget to enter the rafflecopter at the bottom of this post for a chance to win a fabulous grand prize package!

In order to understand this great warrior, Aidan Kerrigan, let me tell you about the world of the Fae…

I’ve always been drawn to the ancient Celtic tales of mythology—from Cuchulainn and the Red Branch, to the epic sagas about the invasions of Ireland. I blame in on my heritage. The blood of my ancestors flows heavily within me. They speak to me constantly. So it only made sense that I would develop and expand the world of the Fenian Fae Warriors. Theirs was a world rich in legends, colors, and senses.

I’ve based my own fictional account on the legend of the Tuatha Dé Danann—one of the invasions of Ireland. They were known as the Shining Ones or the Fae. The Tuatha Dé Danann was defeated in two battles by the Milesians, whom historians and scholars alike agree were probably the first Gaels in Ireland. It was agreed that the new invaders (Milesians) and the Tuatha Dé Danann would each rule half of Ireland. Therefore, it was that Amergin of the Milesians chose that half of Ireland which lay above ground, leaving the Tuatha Dé Danann to retreat below. They were led underground by Manannán mac Lir, God of the Sea, who shielded them with an enchanted mist from mortal eyes. As time passed, they became known as the Sidhe (Shee), or Ireland’s faery folk.

The great Aidan Kerrigan was a tale I feared to write. When he first appeared in the story, Dragon Knight’s Medallion, Order of the Dragon Knights, Book 2, I panicked. I did not know he was a Fenian Warrior until he walked through the crowd of people at the airport to greet his daughter, Aileen. His presence loomed mighty and grew with the previous stories in the Legends of the Fenian Warriors. Regardless, I knew then that his and Rose’s love story had to be told.

With each Fenian Warrior’s story, I shared a layer about this Fae. Little did I know when I penned Aidan’s first line of dialogue that he was the leader of the Fenian Warriors, came from royalty, and his sister was Queen of the Fae realm. He chose not to reveal any of this to me. And this is why I became terrified. What more could he share?

Well, dear readers, Aidan made it simple. He told me to write a love story, stating, “For you see, love is greater than all the power attained in the world—be it human or Fae.”

Therefore, I took you back in time to when Aidan was the leader of the Brotherhood. To when this great warrior had no blemish to stain his life and love tossed his world upside down, altering everything he knew.

And the lovely Rose MacLaren was a perfect match. As he professed to her, “I saw beauty inside the depth of your soul. Your intelligence would rival any Fae in the herbal gardens, and you possess a wisdom that sparks from a desire to learn more. You challenge me.”

 I hope you’ve enjoyed a glimpse behind the scenes of this powerful love story. Here is a piece of music that helped to inspire my writing for this couple:

CELTIC GATE – INTO A MAGICAL FOREST.
Youtube:  https://youtu.be/GlPF-CSCf2o

Destiny of a Warrior
Legends of the Fenian Warriors, Book 4

His accolades were many. His loyalty to the Fae, unwavering.
Until love tempted him to discard duty and claim what was forbidden.

“You met him in the Order of the Dragon Knights. Now, journey to the realm of the Fae and witness their greatest legend!”

As leader of the Fenian Warriors, Aidan Kerrigan’s accolades are many and his loyalty to the Fae unwavering. When an unexpected mission sends him to the human world and a chance encounter with Rose MacLaren, he’s tempted for the first time in his existence to discard duty and claim what is forbidden.

Rose MacLaren, a Society of the Thistle member, yearns to expand her botanical knowledge with her love of history. After her rescue by a handsome stranger, she is compelled to look beyond what her rational mind comprehends and unravel the secret of the standing stones, as well as the man who captivates her.

In a mystical world ruled by ancient laws and edicts, can a fierce warrior choose a path destined for love? And will a woman honoring the ways of the land believe in a myth only spoken of in legends? If they do, will their love be enough to defy death’s punishment?

Excerpt

A chill of foreboding swept through him. In her short time of being among these standing stones, she’d obtained bits of knowledge no one else had come upon. “Continue,” he encouraged softly.

Hugging her notebook against her chest, she went to the tallest stone in the center. “These symbols and images on the back mirror the three centered on the slab. In addition, they are all the same as the other site outside of Glasgow.”

“They’re merely circles,” he admitted, keeping his voice steady. “The Celtic triskele symbol also decorates many other stone structures.”

Her brow furrowed in obvious concentration as she disappeared around the back of the stone.

Tossing the pinecone aside, Aidan stood. His instincts screamed at him to do something to prevent her from further inspecting the stone. Only he knew the significance. And he now understood why he was sent here. In all his travels, not one human had documented his time among them. Or so he believed. Upon his arrival, he longed to pulverize the stones to shards of dust after viewing the back. The altar stone had remained buried under moss, dirt, and ivy. The same was true with the tallest stone at its base.

He fought against extending his hand outward and sinking the area a thousand feet underground. Making quick strides to Rose, he came to an abrupt halt. Her face was ashen as she knelt behind the stone, sketching an entire scene on her notepad. One side mirrored the stones, but on the opposite page, her hand drew an epic vista.

The blood pounded inside his head, and he dared to draw in a breath. With each stroke of her hand, an image came to life and his greatest fear unfolded. Slowly, Aidan lifted his hand. The power built and traveled down his arm. He had to destroy the picture. Banish the past vision from her mind. Eradicate all knowledge of him. Seal the door to the past from the present.

The truth must never be revealed.

But when Rose lifted her gaze to meet his, Aidan’s heart stopped. For the first time in his life, he was torn between duty and his own personal need.

“I am sorry,” he stated in a strangled voice. 

Buy Links:
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07RBQC8VC/
BN: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/destiny-of-a-warrior-mary-morgan/1131596594
AppleBooks: https://books.apple.com/us/book/destiny-of-a-warrior/id1463476741
Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/destiny-of-a-warrior
Amazon CA: https://www.amazon.ca/Destiny-Warrior-Legends-Fenian-Warriors-ebook/dp/B07RBQC8VC/
Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Destiny-Warrior-Legends-Fenian-Warriors-ebook/dp/B07RBQC8VC
Amazon AU: https://www.amazon.com.au/Destiny-Warrior-Legends-Fenian-Warriors-ebook/dp/B07RBQC8VC/
BookStrand: https://www.bookstrand.com/destiny-of-a-warrior
Google Play:https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Mary_Morgan_Destiny_of_a_Warrior

About the Author

Award-winning Celtic paranormal and fantasy romance author, Mary Morgan, resides in Northern California with her own knight in shining armor. However, during her travels to Scotland, England, and Ireland, she left a part of her soul in one of these countries and vows to return.

 Mary’s passion for books started at an early age along with an overactive imagination. Inspired by her love for history and ancient Celtic mythology, her tales are filled with powerful warriors, brave women, magic, and romance. It wasn’t until the closure of Borders Books where Mary worked that she found her true calling by writing romance. Now, the worlds she created in her mind are coming to life within her stories.

If you enjoy history, tortured heroes, and a wee bit of magic, then time-travel within the pages of her books.

Connect with Mary at these places:
WEBSITE/BLOG:  https://www.marymorganauthor.com
TWITTER:  https://twitter.com/m_morganauthor
FACEBOOK AUTHOR PAGE: https://www.facebook.com/MaryMorganAuthor/
GOODREADS:  https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8271002.Mary_Morgan
AMAZON AUTHOR PAGE:  https://www.amazon.com/Mary-Morgan/e/B00KPE3NWI/
PINTEREST:  www.pinterest.com/marymorgan50/
INSTAGRAM: https://www.instagram.com/marymorgan2/
BOOKBUB: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/mary-morgan
LINKEDIN: https://www.linkedin.com/in/mary-morgan-2634a77a/
BOOKGORILLA: https://www.bookgorilla.com/author/B00KPE3NWI/mary-morgan/kcc

Contest

RAFFLECOPTER: (June 5 – July 15, US and Canada only)
Grand Prize: Signed print copy of DESTINY OF A WARRIOR
Celtic jeweled bookmark
$5 Starbucks Gift Card 

a Rafflecopter giveaway

OR

Direct Link to Rafflecopter: https://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/1e1c4f647/?

Guardian Security

Each man has had his own personal experience with danger.
Now they are guardians of your safety and always there when you need them.

Finding Redemption is Book #5

Her son was kidnapped and there is no trace of him anywhere. The one man who can help her is wrapped in his own dark misery. Can she convince him to help?

She shook herself at the sound of Josh’s voice.

Lisa looked at the man across from her. She’d seen him a few times, in very brief situations, but this was the first time she’d had the chance to study him.

At thirty-eight he looked at least ten years older. He had thick black hair peppered with grey, worn long enough that he tied it back with a leather thong. His beard looked more like the result of not shaving rather than a deliberate plan, and dissolution had added extra flesh around the jaw line and pouches under his eyes. His skin was an unhealthy, ruddy color, probably from the amount of alcohol she heard he drank with regularity. Although he carried a few extra pounds, she bet that in his best days, he was lean and mean.

If this were, as the fairy tales said, once upon a time—before Charles had killed any interest she had in men and before Ethan Caine had destroyed himself—she could see herself being drawn to him. Now he just offended her, and she resented any latent spark of attraction he ignited in her.

But then she saw his eyes and something stabbed at her. Although they were alert, studying both the Taylors and his surroundings at the same time, they were a bottomless black filled with so much pain it hurt to look at them. What had this man seen and done that caused that much personal misery? Was this the kind of man she could trust to find her son?

“Lisa?”

She shook herself at the sound of Josh’s voice. “I’m sorry. My mind tends to wander these days.” She pasted what she was sure was a grotesque mockery of a smile on her face. “Than you very much for coming, Mr. Caine.”

“Ethan. Don’t thank me yet.” His voice was deep but not smooth, more like the scraping sound of gravel falling on cement. “Right now we’re just having lunch.”

“That’s true.” She nodded, willing her hands to stop their incessant tremors.

“So, why don’t we order and you can tell me what this little meet and greet is all about.”

Find all Buy links here:
https://desireeholt.com/books/finding-redemption/

In Order:
Book #1 Moving Target
Book #2 Silencing Memories
Book #3 Killing Lies
Book #4 Running Scared
https://desireeholt.com/guardian-security/

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Note from Delilah: We’re having trouble with the link to the newsletter signup, but you can go to Desiree’s website, wait for the pop up, and sign up that way to get your free book!

All over the U.S. we will be enjoying various kinds of fireworks displays on July 4^th.

Fireworks were not unknown during the Georgian/Regency eras, and were used for grand effect in public celebrations in London.

Green Park was readied for a grand fireworks display in 1763 to celebrate the Treaty of Paris, which ended the French and Indian War in North America. Green Park was also used for a national park in 1746 to celebrate the end of the War of Hanoverian. The royal family arranged a great fireworks display and commissioned the composer, Handel, to write music for the Royal Fireworks. A vast Temple of Peace was built in the park to store the fireworks. But early on a stray rocket hit the temple. Three people died and 10,000 fireworks were destroyed in the fire that followed.

Another cause for creating massive fireworks was the long reign of George III. How spectacular these illuminations must have seemed extravagent to people at a time when candlelight was rare and expensive.

When the Napoleonic Wars came to an end, famed rope walker, Madame Saqui, could finally cross the English Channel in 1816 to perform at Vauxhall Gardens for the first time. 

‘In the midst of a great burst of fireworks, Bengal lights glimmering faintly in the clouds of smoke, Madame Saqui stands on a rope, sixty feet up, and follows a narrow and difficult path to the end of her journey. Sometimes she is completely hidden from all eyes by the billowing waves, but from the way she walks, so self-assured, one would think an Immortal was walking peacefully towards her celestial home.’

HAPPY BIRTHDAY AMERICA!

To Gamble on an Earl 

The Men of Waterloo Series – Book Two

Evan, the Earl of Foxington, had only one mistress, Lady Luck. When she deserted him at the Battle of Hougomont he was left scarred in more ways than one.

Lady Phoebe Collins has loved Foxington since she and her best friend, his sister, dogged his footsteps as children. When she received a request from him for a tryst at a ball, what seemed to be the answer to her dreams turned out to be a nightmare.

Will Foxington be able to overcome the thrill of gambling to earn Phoebe’s trust? Will Phoebe ever learn to feel safe enough to love again?

Get your copy here!

Excerpt

Lady Phoebe Collins backed into the alcove, stopping when she bumped against the floral wallpaper. She was safely hidden in the shadows, away from the ballroom and its dancing couples. She took the note from her reticule and her heart skipped a beat as she read the words written in a strong hand, “Meet me in the sitting room, two doors beyond the stairs, at half past eleven. —Fox.”

Putting the note back into her reticule, she smiled at the familiar form of address in the signature and moved down the hall to the specified room. Why did Foxington want to meet her? Was he having regrets about what had happened when they’d been snowed in on Christmas Eve? Or was he planning to continue what they’d started on that magical night? His nickname, “The Fox” implied an intimate relationship, and her pulse fluttered again at the thought. She walked down the hall, her mind going over every detail of the night they were trapped together by a snowstorm one year earlier.

Foxington approached offering to escort her home after a dinner party where Ravenstone had surprised everyone by asking Lady Lettice Durham, Foxington’s sister to marry him. The trip home had gone terribly wrong, an unexpected storm piling so much snow on the road that they’d had to unhitch the horses and finish the journey to Elkhorn Hall on horseback.

            Foxington had taken her up behind him, and the intimacy of the situation had encompassed them, lingering after they’d arrived and been cared for by the intrepid housekeeper, Mrs. Brown. Food and dry clothing had been provided for everyone, including Foxington’s aunt, who had also been in the carriage as chaperone.  

            After Foxington’s aunt departed the room, Phoebe walked around the space, picking up pillows from the sofa and fluffing them, only to put one down before picking up another.

            “I would say this evening was a success in regards to Lady Lettice and Lord Ravenstone. You accomplished what you set out to do. Your sister is now betrothed, and to a fine gentleman.” Phoebe looked up at Foxington with a smile.

            The earl moved swiftly toward Phoebe, reached for the pillow she was holding to her chest, and threw it back onto the sofa before placing one arm around her waist. He cupped her cheek, bent down, and kissed her.

            The urgency in his kiss surprised them both, and for a moment she didn’t react. Then, as if giving in to some inner debate her body relaxed against his, she returned the pressure of his lips, and her legs moved against the confines of her gown to arch slightly against him.

            He paused slightly, then kissed her once more, gently. He set her back from him with his arms stiff and his breathing ragged.

            “Phoebe?” he asked softly, his deep voice thick. With concern, she’d thought.

             She stared at him, realizing he was just as shocked as she at their encounter.

            “You—you kissed me,” she whispered.

            “I certainly did.” A devilish grin quirked at his lips. “And by all accounts you kissed me back. Care for another one?”

From The Author

I have been reading romance novels since the age of fourteen and never turned back. I have my Mom to thank for my interest in romance novels and my Dad for my love of history.

When I am not reading (or writing the stories which dance around in my head) I enjoy the joyful moments with my growing family, the ballet, long walks, travel and romantic movies.

Writing has always been a great passion of mine and I am glad to be doing what I like best. Connecting with readers is a bright spot and always a happy moment for me knowing my books touched someone and they took the time to let me know. Each and every reader is the reason I continue to write Regency Historical romances and you are the ones who keep me at it.

Visit Me At:
Website: https://dianedario.wordpress.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/DianeDarioRegency/
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Diane-Dario/e/B0157G6A5A?ref=dbs_p_ebk_r00_abau_000000
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14253284.Diane_Dario
Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/dianedario/

My latest book, Colton’s Mistaken Identity, is Book 7 in the Coltons of Roaring Springs series from Harlequin Romantic Suspense. While each book in the series is standalone, meaning you don’t have to read any of the previous, it’s a richer read when you have. My heroine is an identical twin and poses as her (missing? kidnapped?) twin during a film festival in the idyllic setting of Roaring Springs, Colorado. Phoebe works at her parent’s Chateau resort, giving the setting a very Aspen/French Alps feel. Phoebe is attracted to the bigtime movie star Prescott Reynolds, but can’t even contemplate a sexy rendezvous or two, not with her sister’s mysterious disappearance and the festival to run. Of course, lots of scary suspense and life-threatening action ensues, along with intimate, intense sexy times. It’s why it’s called romantic suspense. What keeps me happily writing Harlequin Romantic Suspense is the depth of characters and the emotional honesty of their relationships. I hope you’ll enjoy them, too.

Colton’s Mistaken Identity

The wrong twin…or the right one?
A Coltons of Roaring Springs romance

Marketing exec Skye Colton suddenly disappears, putting the Roaring Springs Film Festival in jeopardy. Enter Skye’s identical twin, Phoebe, who poses as her sister. In her starring role, Phoebe catches the eye of A-list actor Prescott Reynolds, and she can’t deny the electricity that erupts between them. With Skye still missing and a stalker at large, this is the worst time to fall in love, especially with danger racing toward them…

Excerpt

A flash of red, the distinct shade he’d first laid eyes on this morning in the copse of aspen trees, caught his attention. The same woman he’d seen on the trail walked past him and began to climb the stairs to the grand ballroom. He knew where the impressive stairs led, as he’d already memorized the layout of the hotel. His privacy had necessitated he know every nook and cranny to escape to if the paparazzi became rabid.

She wasn’t in running clothes any longer, and her hair was styled to show off the unique hue. From her profile he saw that she was wearing makeup, a little much for his taste, but he was used to being around women who enjoyed dolling themselves up. It was all part of being an actor.

This woman intrigued him when she shouldn’t. And yet as she’d walked by, oblivious to him, he’d caught a whiff of floral perfume that captured him like a trout in a net. The sight of her profile again, this time with makeup on and offset by the backdrop of the luxurious resort, struck a chord deep inside him. Prescott wasn’t a stranger to immediate attraction but this took it to a new place for him. Besides the obvious physical pull of her beauty, he sensed the potential for something deeper, more meaningful, between them.

What the heck was going on with him?

She wasn’t wearing anything exciting, and her business suit didn’t show off her curves as well as her workout clothing had. Still, in the view he had of her backside, there was no denying her very feminine shape under the jacket and dress pants. Insta-lust made him pause, not wanting to get an erection in public.

You’ve been alone too long.

After what he’d been through with his ex, he knew better than to even look twice at this stunning woman. But he couldn’t help himself. Truth be told, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. Nor how relieved he’d felt when he’d realized she wasn’t trailing him. It was always in the back of his mind that Ariella could show up again, and her penchant for ugliness wasn’t something he relished. He’d been drawn to Ariella’s intelligence and quick wit. And it had worked for a while, until her true nature of career-climbing at the expense of the men in her life reappeared. Or maybe he’d simply come out of his denial about her dark side. Either way, it had been a rough go of it for his dating life ever since.

But the redhead… His gut told him to go after her.

He didn’t entertain the rational side of his brain that told him he was out of his league. That not everyone was impressed by actors, not that he ever consciously used his job or status to seduce a woman. He believed more in allowing an attraction to grow organically.

This inexplicable urge to talk to the stranger, the only redhead he’d seen at The Chateau, was definitely organic on his part. But would she think he was odd?
What if she wasn’t available? Preston stopped midway up the staircase. He hadn’t even considered that she might be with someone already. Hell, she could even be married.

Chill, dude.

Prescott hadn’t had to go after a woman in years. And he missed it. The constant attention from the opposite sex had been heady when he’d arrived in Hollywood and been cast in his first roles ten, twelve years ago. But it quickly grew old, and he didn’t want to spend time with someone who only saw him as an actor. The redhead clearly worked here or had a role to play in the film fest, so she was probably used to celebrities. Would she see past the Caribbean-blue eyes that had become his trademark? Not that he’d ever expected to be known for his eyes. His dream wasn’t even so much to be recognized for his acting as to be give the opportunities to bring meaningful roles to life. He wasn’t a fan of the celebrity culture that came with it but he understood it was all part of the gig.

Except when he wanted a woman to see him as more than a contender for a tabloid’s annual sexiest man.

He walked through open, massive carved oak doors and into the hotel’s pièce de résistance—the grand ballroom. The floor was entirely parquet but covered with a huge red carpet that ran into its center, where the area delineated for dancing remained clear. Hundreds if not a full thousand round tables framed the open area, the crystal chandeliers catching the fading sunlight, their bulbs still dim. Soon they’d be bright and the room a cacophony of press, actors, studio executives and the teams of people it took to make it all happen.

It was that rare quiet moment before a major event launched. Right now it was hushed as workers rapidly set tables and moved last-minute lighting equipment into place. A DJ set up in a far corner of the room, her control panel as large as any he’d ever seen in a concert. But in another hour and a half, it would burst to life with an entirely different personality.

Prescott liked the quiet anticipation before an event. As much as he enjoyed the slow build of desire as he met and wooed a woman into his bed.

The redhead stood alone in the middle of the room, silently moving her lips as she read from her phone. Her running clothes were gone but she hadn’t upgraded her look that much, wearing easy black pants and a simple pale pink silk shell. Her skin was dewy, and as he’d already noticed she liked her makeup heavy, but on her stunning features it only emphasized her beauty.

His running shoes, silent on the plush carpet, hit the parquet floor, and a loud squeak sounded. The woman gasped as she startled and dropped her phone onto the carpet. Her caramel-brown eyes lasered in on him, and he knew how a bug felt under a magnifying glass. But it was more like an ant under a sunbeam as heat immediately flared in his chest, rushing toward his groin. The woman was so damned beautiful, from her glorious red hair to her full lush lips, down to her full breasts and hips. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so smitten, from the get-go.

Because you never have been.

He held up his hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He bent down and retrieved her phone, on which he saw notes displayed before he handed it back to her.

“I-I’m not…scared.” She cleared her throat, and he had to consciously force his gaze from the creamy skin of her neck to her eyes. He swore he already knew what she’d taste like, how her soft skin would give under the pressure of his lips.

“What can I do for you?” She’d been surprised by his appearance but recovered quickly. The immediate shock in her brown eyes was already replaced by cool assessment. Yup, definitely someone used to working with celebrities. And not easily impressed, he’d guess.

“I’m Prescott—”

“I know who you are, Mr. Reynolds. Is there something you need before tonight’s premiere?” Her tone burst with brusque efficiency, but all he could see was the way her pink-glossed lips formed the words.

“You didn’t notice, but this morning we were both on the hiking trail.”

“You mean the running path?” She bit her lower lip, and her cheeks flushed under the makeup. Why did she have an expression of guilt on her feminine features? “Sorry, but I’m not a runner. You must have seen my twin sister, Phoebe. She, ah, goes for a few miles every morning. I’m more of a night owl. Did you enjoy your time on the property?”

“Yes, of course.” He waved his hand around, motioning at the room. “This entire place is amazing. It’s easy to feel like I’m in the middle of Normandy or Burgundy while I’m here.” Too late he realized what a snob he sounded like. His global travel was a direct privilege of his celebrity status, and the Iowa farm boy inside him cringed at his careless mention of a destination so few ever afforded.

“Thank you. I’ll pass that on to my parents. Is there something else?” There was an air of impatience, no, make that desperation about her as she repeated her question. Maybe she had to practice red carpet introductions, or there had been some last-minute disruptions to the festival’s launch gala.

“Actually, it’s me who’d like to do something for you. What did you say your name was?”

Most women were impressed enough by this point to at least show a spark of appreciation in their gaze. But not this woman. She actually hesitated before she answered, as if reluctant to let him know anything so personal. Talk about the tables being turned.

The warmth in his center from her nearness exploded into something he hadn’t felt in a long while. Joy.

Prescott realized that he’d sorely missed having a woman turn him on his head. Maybe this film festival wasn’t going to be the laborious weeklong junket that he’d resigned himself to.

“I’m Skye Colton, the resort’s marketing director.” She held out a slim hand, and he took it. As they shook he was again distracted, this time by the silky softness of her skin that contrasted sharply with the firmness of her grip. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Not as pleased as I am. Call me Prescott, please.” He loved how she grasped his hand like a boss. She’d be incredible in bed, he instinctively knew. But what stunned him was that he wasn’t interested in that, not right now. Well, maybe he was completely enthralled by how seductive her mere presence was, but he was feeling something very different from first-meet attraction. Something more palpable.

All Prescott wanted was to get to know Skye Colton better. Suddenly his seven-day junket in Roaring Springs felt as if it was already half over. There would never be enough time to know this woman the way he wanted to.

But damned if he wouldn’t give it his best shot.

*
Phoebe knew she gripped Prescott’s hand too tightly, but to his credit the man didn’t even wince. She’d had no choice, as there was no other way to hide her nervousness. Thank goodness she’d wiped her palm on her pants before she’d shaken his. Otherwise he’d have known how rattled she was.

The photos and films didn’t do this man justice. Not even close. She’d never had a zing of awareness when she’d seen him on the big screen, nor had she grown wet with pure feminine need as she’d watched his performances. Standing so near to him, it was a shock to her that his star status wasn’t at play. She felt as she would with a non-celebrity man she was attracted to. Except her reaction was so far over the top. Between his deep voice, his words that made her feel like she was the only woman in the room, and the confidence in his posture and body language that hinted at his athleticism, her knees felt like her mother’s pepper jelly. All wobbly but with heat washing over her skin, making her want to run away before she did what her hormones were begging for: to kiss Prescott Reynolds right here in the ballroom and tell him to follow her to her room.

This must be what groupies feel like, and why they go after movie and rock stars.

This had to be some kind of sexual overreaction due to the morning’s upheaval caused by Skye’s disappearance.

Prescott flashed his familiar white-toothed I-leave-hearts-crushed-with-every-footstep grin that she recognized from his film promos and it snapped it out of her sexual trance.

It was nothing like the smile she’d witnessed in her favorite work of his—an historical period piece where he’d played a struggling artist amid the French Revolution. While his smile was part of his trademark good looks, as he looked at her, she was aware that there was more to this man than his celebrity. And he knew how to turn it on and off, not a virtue of many people she’d met who lived in the spotlight.

“Okay, then. Nice to meet you, Prescott.”

“Nice to meet you, too, Skye.” Phoebe didn’t like lying, ever, yet as she stood in the middle of the grand ballroom, her hair and makeup perfectly done in Skye’s signature style, it was surprisingly easy to fall into the role. Save for Skye’s effervescent presence. And extreme comfort around attractive, powerful men.

“You must be very excited for tonight. I’ll be announcing each of you, I mean the VIPs, as you arrive.” She’d watched from the sidelines as her twin had handled actors over the past three years since they’d both left college. Skye made it look so easy, but Phoebe was drained at the mere thought of having to play “happy to meet you” with countless actors.

He shrugged, his tall, muscular frame formidable in measure but his energy anything but. He made her feel as though she were the only person he wanted to be with. No doubt all part of his practiced Hollywood charm.

“It’s a thrill to know the world’s going to finally see something I worked so hard on, but to be frank, I left this film’s set almost a year ago. My mind is on other…projects.”

She couldn’t help but laugh, his flirting was so obvious. “I’ll bet it is.” It seemed silly, but she went ahead and batted her eyes anyway. And immediately felt like Skye. She wanted to tell him that she wasn’t really her twin, please forgive her, and would he call her Phoebe?

But she couldn’t. So she smiled, content to soak up his aura of good cheer as pseudo-Skye.

He smiled back, but it wasn’t the predatory grin of a man on the prowl. She’d watched plenty of actors behave poorly over the years, and this wasn’t it. Prescott seemed relaxed, and there was a special light in his eyes that she couldn’t attribute to the chandeliers, as they weren’t fully lit yet. She didn’t know the man, but if she had to name it, she’d say he was happy. A man in his element. Exactly where he wanted to be.

Buy links: https://gerikrotow.com/books/coltons-mistaken-identity/#order

About the Author

Geri Krotow is the bestselling author of the Silver Valley PD series for Harlequin Romantic Suspense, and the Bayou Bachelors series with Kensington Lyrical Caress. A U.S. Naval Academy graduate and Intelligence Officer, Geri left her Navy career to pursue writing. Geri enjoys creating sexy contemporary romances and tingling suspense.

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UPDATE: The winners is…Booklady!
*~*~*

Click on the covers to learn more about these stories!

Have you read the books in my Beaux Rêve Coven series? The covers are gorgeous, aren’t they? (Thanks, sis!) If you love witches and trolls and werewolves and vampires, and…well, all those lovely beings who inhabit paranormal worlds, you won’t want to miss these stories. I have two more books planned in the series, and hope to get them both out before the end of the year. In the meantime, enjoy an excerpt from Wolf Moon Rising, and comment below for a chance to win a copy of one of the BRC books!

Wolf Moon Rising

In Jefferson Parish, deep in the bayou, is a place called Bonne Nuit. Off the beaten path, isolated by swamp and connected to the sea, there the Beaux Rêve Coven thrives.

Five witches…Too many demons to count…

Aoife is the flightiest of the sister witches, and she has a secret, one her mother warned her to keep close to her heart. Her father was a fairy—which explains her quirkiness and her affinity for flowers. She lives in a cabin on stilts that juts into the bayou, and one of her demon guardians is a werewolf. She’s attracted, but how would he feel if he married her, fathered a child, and that child disappeared into the land of the fae? Desperate to find a solution to her dilemma, she flees her guardian’s protection. Her last hope is to enlist her father’s help. Plead her case. Her happiness, and that of her one true love, Sigurd, depends on whether she can escape this fairy curse.

Excerpt

For Sigurd, acting as guardian to the witch, Aoife, was both a blessing and curse. A blessing, because he’d never known anyone as innocent and pure, and a woman who truly didn’t know her own allure. A curse, because he had to guard her against his own lustful nature.

And again, he was thankful two other demons were assigned the protection detail, because more than anything, he wanted her kept safe. However, he was equally annoyed at having two competitors for her affection.

Of course, many more among the demons living around Bonne Nuit aspired to hear the “echo” of their bonding with a witch. Such a bonding brought power to the lucky demon—and demons were greedy about that sort of thing. They frequented Aoife’s small cabin poised on long stilts above the bayou on the flimsiest of excuses. One needed a fragrant oil to help him sleep. Another needed a healing balm to soothe a bruise. And they were constantly underfoot in her garden and her workshop, interfering more than helping—at least, to his mind.

However, Aoife appeared blissfully unaware of the males’ attempts at garnering her exclusive attention. Her radiant smile flashed indiscriminately upon her pursuers, never mind their unsuitability as possible mates. And despite the fact they’d done nothing to earn the right to call her wife.

Unlike Sigurd, who suffered her proximity and who stood ready to serve her in any way she pleased. Who quietly stood guard over her while she slept, losing his sleep and his pride because she slumbered so soundly, completely unaware of his constant state of arousal.

Sigurd wasn’t naturally a patient man, but he had withstood the torture of being close day in and out for seven months. He was nearing his breaking point. If something didn’t happen soon, he would press their leader, Ethan, to ask his pretty wife for help. Bryn liked him well enough, always turning to give him a wink when “family” dinners took place, and one of Aoife’s admirers fought for the privilege of sitting at her side. Sigurd preferred to sit across from her at the table anyway—the better to glower at his competition. And perhaps raise a lip in a menacing snarl.

Bryn seemed to be in his corner. Perhaps she would be eager to see her sister witch settled. If something didn’t change soon, he’d speak with her.

On this evening, Sigurd wore his wolfskin and lay curled on the wooden floor beside Aoife’s bed. Just before she’d begun softly snoring, she’d reached down and scratched behind his ears. Probably not an act she was even aware of doing. She was kind to all creatures and seemed especially fond of his wolf form, sometimes taking a brush to his fur or giving him a bath in the large metal tub on the porch. He lived for those moments.

He shook his head in disgust. What a sorry excuse for a wolf he was. Wolves weren’t pets. They were pack animals who needed to belong to a family and a mate. A male needed to dominate his bitch, but he didn’t think Aoife would ever agree to be his bitch.

However, the thought did stretch his wolf’s mouth into a feral grin. He laid his head atop his paws and settled with a disgruntled whine.

Minutes passed, and he was nearly drifting off to sleep when the bed creaked and feet softly lowered to the floor. He perked his ears and pushed up to peer over the mattress, just in time to see Aoife slip through her bedroom door.

He followed, freezing when her steps paused, ducking behind corners when she glanced around. Something was afoot, and his hackles rose when she reached for her cloak and a small bag from the hook beside the front door.

Was she meeting a lover? Or were the witches gathering in secret? Somehow, he doubted the latter because Bryn was very pregnant and couldn’t slide gracefully from Ethan’s bed. And Miren would have to escape three mates, and that could never happen. Which reminded him, where the hell were the other two guards?

When Aoife opened the door and crept outside, closing it behind her, he drew up short. He hadn’t considered how he would exit the house, so he quickly shook free of his wolfskin and strode onto the porch. His glance went to the steps at the side of the porch, but then a sound, a soft splash, pulled his gaze to the canal flowing past her porch. She’d taken a boat. The fact she was already on the water meant she’d been in a hurry.

What the fuck?

Footsteps sounded from inside the house. A door creaked open then slammed shut. So much for stealth. Hamdir, also a wolf, walked to his side, scratching his chest. “Where’s the witch? I was sleeping on the couch. Thought you were watching her.”

“I was.” I watched her escape. “Go back to bed. I have this handled.”

“Sure about that?” Hamdir yawned. “Don’t know how you aren’t dead on your feet. You really ought to let us have turns inside her bedroom.” His large hand patted Sigurd’s shoulder. “Driving to New Orleans in the mornin’, or I’d join you on this hunt,” he said with a waggle of his eyebrows.

His gaze followed Hamdir as he stepped back inside. Their group had grown complacent since Ethan defeated the council’s champion in battle and no retribution had been settled upon their unbanded group. Most presumed the mere presence of so many demons, concentrated in their small town, was deterrent enough to rogue demons seeking to steal a witch for a mate.

Sigurd was reminded he’d have to enlist another guard from among the bachelor demons during Hamdir’s absence.

A cool wind wafted against his skin, raising chill bumps. Early Winter in the bayou was mild, but he couldn’t easily follow Aoife on foot. Instead, Sigurd shifted again and fell to his paws. With a single quick yelp, he leapt past the stairs to the bank. Lifting his nose to the breeze, he followed Aoife’s delicious witch’s scent through the murky, shadowed bayou. If he startled a gator, the bastard better move out of his way.

Aoife drew her paddle into the pirogue and stepped out onto the bank. She hadn’t rowed far, but she worried that her guardians would notice she’d eluded their watch. And that couldn’t happen. Tonight, she needed privacy to commune with the moon, and perhaps, coax a stubborn door to open.

As she stepped into the thick forest, she drew deep, calming breaths. She crushed the carnation she’d secreted into the bag inside the pocket of her cloak and whispered a quick, ineloquent spell.

“Goddess, though I walk alone,
your moon’s rays light my way.
Let nature’s bounty, your gift to us but still your own,
do no harm or deter me along my way.”

Despite her prayer, she glanced around the deepening darkness and hoped she’d recognize the tree when she saw it. The canopy above her allowed only dapples of moonlight through to the forest floor. She’d found the oak only days ago when she’d been searching for moss for a fairy house she was constructing to sell online. No one else would have noted it. The tree was old. Its bark thick and rugged. Although shorter and squatter than the lovely old oak in the open field the witches used for their rituals, this one appeared ancient—much more suited to her task. When she’d rapped on its bark to awaken its spirit, she’d felt the old oak shiver its branches and sensed its anger at her intrusion. Only a grouchy old oak would serve her purpose.

With the picture of the squat oak in her mind, she reached into her right pocket and crushed the dried honeysuckle there, letting its sweet aroma rise around her, and sought the oak with her other sight.

When she again opened her eyes, moonlight gleamed brighter straight ahead. She plunged forward but didn’t note the vine on the forest floor. Her foot snagged and sent her toppling to the ground. As she pushed upright, she thought she heard something rustling in the bushes. Not a small animal. Suspicious, she narrowed her gaze and stared in the direction of the sound, sure a certain wolf with better night vision than she had stared right back.

She waited, listening, but when no other sounds intruded, other than the rustling of dried leaves above, she continued her way. If Sigurd were trailing her, he would already have made his presence known. He was forever standing in her path, forcing her to raise her gaze to his. In those moments, she felt as though her lungs constricted, and her voice got very small. She wasn’t exactly intimidated, because she knew he’d never harm her, but his size and steady, all-seeing gaze looked right through her. Like he could read her mind. Which was impossible. Still, she found deceiving him very hard, which was why she’d decided to sneak away in the dead of night. As soon as he’d fallen asleep, she’d crept from the house. Yes, she’d heard the slam of a door in the distance, but she’d been well around the bend in the canal. No, he couldn’t have tracked her so quickly to this part of the woods. If she was successful, he wouldn’t arrive at her destination until it was already too late.

It was well past time she should have had this conversation, and secrecy was of the utmost importance. This situation wasn’t something she could talk to her sisters about. They’d be hurt, because she’d never divulged the truth in all their long acquaintance, despite their shared travails. This secret burned a hole in her belly and made her lose sleep. Worse, it kept her from Sigurd. She could never agree to be his mate—and she knew he wanted that—not until her problem was resolved. Inside her pocket, she crossed her fingers and hoped she’d found the right tree.

The golden light beckoned, growing stronger the deeper into the woods she went, until she entered a clearing. Light from a golden gibbous moon gleamed through the branches of the canopy above. Fireflies, out of season, hovered around the trunk, blinking out and on. Something about the air had changed. It smelled sweeter, and felt…thinner…warmer.

This was the place. It had to be. She’d felt this same trembling excitement the one time her mother led her into the woods to greet an ancient oak and attempted what Aoife had to accomplish tonight.

Closing her eyes, she reached out and laid a hand against the rugged trunk.

“Come fae and fair,
No need beware,
A daughter comes to greet you.
One knock you hear,
Two draws you near,
The third opens the door to meet you.”

Taking a deep breath, she rapped three times. Then she waited.

The wind picked up, dragging back her hood. Light gleamed between the edges of the bark, up and down the tree.

She stepped backward. Her breaths came faster, and then the glowing edges formed a rectangle, wider than an arm span. The dark bark at its center melted away.

Revealed inside the doorway was a tunnel formed by intertwining gold and green vines. She swept up the edges of her cloak and bent to step inside the door. As soon as her feet touched soft moss on the other side, she heard a crackling sound from behind and a long, lonely howl.